Warning: This story contains mention of smoking, drinking, implied sexual acts nature, self-injury, suicidal thoughts child abuse and mention of abusive relationships. If you are not mature enough to read it, please be mature enough to hit the back button. I own nothing, not even a gold fish and I certainly do not own any characters mentioned below.

Hate. It's such an ugly word, but it states how I feel so perfectly. I hate that deep black hair. I hate that noble stance - how it screams arrogance, the best upbringing and hours upon hours of lessons in etiquette. I hate that voice. I hate those words that sound so polished in that accent which is right at home at the fanciest dinner parties ... or at Death Eaters' meetings.

It's worse however, when it takes on that manic quality. When you can hear his voice lose its lucidness as he becomes increasingly unstable. Mania, depression, and delusions of grandeur fall from his lips and I can hardly stand to look at him the next day.

I hate the way he treats his friends. He does not deserve them and he never say's the right things. Whenever they need comfort, they turn to him, but he never knows what to say and he always makes things worse.

I hate how he wakes up screaming night after night like a child. I hate the terror and panic and pain I can hear as the echo dies out around the room.

I hate the way he lets that perfect person wrap their arms around him and comfort him, despite the fact he knows he doesn't deserve that love. He's not worthy of the adoration and acceptance he sees staring back at him when he looks into those eyes.

I hate it when he smokes and his friends tease, plead, and mock in their friendly playful way trying to make him stop. He still wastes two packs a day and years of his life just to play the rebel, no matter how they implore him to stop.

I hate it even more when he drinks and his comrades try to drag him back to the dorm, but he will not go. He's convinced himself that he can handle it and he drinks bottle after bottle after bottle trying to forget the horrible things she said to him and that she did to him. As the booze hits the back of his throat, I know he's trying to forget those nights when she'd come into his room and use his body and humiliate him for her own perverse pleasure.

But the booze makes him lose control and before he knows it, he reminds me of her more and more until he's just like her. Arrogant and unstable and hurtful to everyone around him, but always aiming his pain at those who love him most as he spews lies and anger. He deserves those nights he spends face down in the toilet heaving out his guts, but he doesn't deserve those loyal friends who wait up through the night with him. He doesn't deserve that lover who finishes his homework for him and that best friend who makes excuses to his teacher and whispers the answers to him in class when he's to hung over to remember his own name or what he did the night before.

I hate what he does on those "nights before." I hate the way he cheats and allows himself to be dragged into the beds of strangers. He lets strangers - women and men with unknown names use his body just like she did.

I hate the way he lets that wonderful person take him back and hold him and how he never has the integrity to admit what he has done.

I see those scars on him that no one else sees. The ones on his upper arms and legs that I know he gave himself. I don'thate those scars. He deserves them. He's paying for being such a freak. He's different from everyone else. It's not something that you can pin-point, but I just know it.

I hate the way he plays the court jester - pulling pranks, slacking off, and playing the flirt. He's a joke. If they knew the genuine him, they wouldn't want anything to do with him.

Sometimes, I can't stand looking at him. I can't stand hearing his voice and I just wish I would never have to hear it again.

That amber-eyed angel who promised to love him forever could find someone better - anyone would be better. That someone else might even deserve his love. That best friend - that brother of his would be better off without him poisoning his mind. I hate the way he's too cowardly to set them free.

I'm the only one who knows how close that he's come to ending it all. I saw that blade pressed against his wrist and I wished that he would have the courage to drag that knife down and cause the blood of that accursed family to rain freely, but he didn't. He was too much of a sentimental fool and instead he went to the cabinet and crawled back to the booze he had been leaning on since before he was even a teenager. He'd been too hung-over to go to class the next day and that foolish best friend of his made excuses for his absence. He didn't deserve such kindness. He didn't deserve to have someone looking out for him. Maybe if they - his best friend or his lover were to find out what kind of monster he really was, they would stop being there for him.

I hate the way he keeps his walls up so they can never see how awful he truly is just because he's too selfish to let them go. He is a monster. There is no other way around it. He had always failed to protect his brother from the beatings, the whippings and the abuse and because he was never the older brother, he should have been - that innocent child had become just like her. It would be so much better if he disappeared.

I hate it the most when he takes his anger out on that loving guardian of his. I see the blood that runs down that beautiful face and I see the bruises around adoring eyes when he loses his temper or when he's too drunk to stop himself or too deep into one of his erratic moods to even care. That is when I hate him the most. I hate Sirius Black with everything I have.

- Sirius Black

Author's note: Yes, the story is about self-hate. Please read and review. Thank you for reading.

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